Never Alone
by fhestia
Summary: Tis the season to be surly...and nothing irritates the Potions Master more than an untimely cold over the holidays, unless it's unwelcome attention from his colleagues. Set during "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban." Not slash, just fluff.
1. Chapter 1

"I distinctly said _simmer_. Now lower the flame under your cauldron before you poison us all, Mr. Lawley."

If there was a class period Professor Snape despised most, it was this one, with the dangerous combination of overconfident first-year Ravenclaws and half-witted first-year Hufflepuffs. The only saving grace was that it was the final class of the day.

He watched in disbelief as the trembling student poked his wand haphazardly at the flames, which instantly flared up higher than before, licking the sides of the cauldron and making the edges of his sleeve smoke. Snape stalked over and pushed him roughly out of the way.

"Five points from Hufflepuff for being flawlessly incompetent," he growled, flicking his wand impatiently at the base of the cauldron.

Even though the fire died down instantly, the potion was still boiling rapidly, sending up thick clouds of acrid steam. He tried to avoid breathing it in because he had been fighting the urge to sneeze since the beginning of the lesson and the pungent aroma from the overstewed hyssop was intensifying the uncomfortable prickling sensation in his sinuses. He massaged the bridge of his nose, hoping to delay what was rapidly becoming inevitable; his eyes were streaming and his breath was beginning to hitch with the increasing urge to rid himself of the irritation, but he would not give the wretched little first-years the satisfaction of catching him in a moment of weakness. He moved quickly to the water basin in the corner to splash his face. The cold water was bracing and seemed to clear some of the grogginess and fatigue that had been plaguing him all day.

As he reached for the towel hanging nearby, the tickle in his nose suddenly became overwhelming and he buried his face in the towel, barely in enough time to muffle a powerful sneeze. He winced against the sudden stab of pain in his throat.

This was not happening. It was the last day of term before the Christmas holiday and Snape was looking forward to the relative quiet and calm of the castle in the absence of most of the students. He had no intention of wasting any of his free time in being ill.

He sniffled in an attempt to clear his head, but realized his mistake belatedly. Rather than relieving the prickling sensation, it had worsened and spread and as he stood with his back to the class he could feel another sneeze building, one he knew he would be helpless to stop. He stifled the second and then the third sneeze as quietly as he could and still the irritation was not lessening. This was the worst possible time and place for a sneezing fit; right in the middle of the resting stage of the brewing process, when the silence in the classroom was absolute, save for the soft burbling of the potions in the student's cauldrons. He could almost feel thirty pairs of eyes boring into his back as he tried to regain his composure.

He swiped roughly at his nose with the towel, tossed it in the bin and turned reluctantly, hoping no one had noticed and prepared to immediately deduct points from anyone who had. While most of the students seemed to be studiously ignoring him or staring in horror at the contents of their cauldrons, a flustered-looking Hufflepuff girl was watching him carefully. He narrowed his eyes at her in warning. If she made any attempt at all to bless him, she would find herself in detention, upcoming Christmas holiday or not.

As Snape passed her on his way to his desk, his voice was low as he said, "I would suggest next time you pay more attention to your work and less attention to me...perhaps then you won't ruin your potion." The girl blushed scarlet and finally dropped her eyes from his.

"Time is up," he said when he reached the front of the classroom. He sank heavily into his chair and pressed a knuckle into the corner of his eye, trying to stave off yet another sneeze. "Leave a sample of your potion on the desk and then get out of my sight..."

Eager to escape the oppressive dungeons to begin their holiday, excited chatter immediately broke out amongst the students as they bottled their work and cleared their cauldrons. Chairs were squeaking on the floor, phials were clattering against the tables and Snape could feel the answering throb of a headache beginning in his temples.

"...quietly," he added with a snarl.

As the students approached his desk one by one, he acknowledged the few tentative holiday wishes with a curt nod and waited impatiently for the room to clear. Gloriana Sullivan, the same Hufflepuff girl who had been watching him earlier was the last to approach, and she stood frozen in place, her potion phial still clutched tightly.

"I will take that, Miss Sullivan," he said, holding out his hand. "Since you seem incapable of finding the rack that's directly in front of your eyes." She nodded, but made absolutely no move. Good god, was he going to have to pry it out of the girl's fingers? "Miss Sullivan?"

"Happy Christmas, Professor," Gloriana squeaked suddenly, and in one swift move she drew a bulky package from her bag and dropped it on his desk, along with her potion vial. Snape had to make a quick grab for the phial as it rolled off his desk, and when he straightened, his gaze fell on the wrapped parcel. He looked to Gloriana for an explanation, but he could only see the back of her as she quickly scuttled from the classroom.

Snape slumped in his chair, head resting in his hands. His condition was rapidly deteriorating. Fatigue was creeping into his limbs and every joint felt stiff and achy. He shuddered as a chill began to work its way up his back. He wasn't ill. He refused to be ill. It was just overwork, that was all. A few days of rest and he would be fine. He closed his eyes, relishing the quiet that had fallen over the classroom. No students. No demands on his time. No obligations save for the tiresome Christmas luncheon, but that was days away.

"Excuse me, Severus," came a soft voice. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

Snape started up in his chair, his eyes flying open to see Remus Lupin gazing up at him, a strained smile on his pallid face. The Wolfsbane. How could he have forgotten? It was nearly the full moon and he hadn't yet started the potion. He shivered at the realization that instead of spending the evening curled up comfortably in front of a fire, he would be brewing in his chilly workroom.

"If you're here for the Wolfsbane, it isn't finished."

"I won't need it for a few days yet." Remus seemed uncomfortable, his gaze traveling about the room as he shifted from foot to foot, crossing and uncrossing his arms.

"Then why are you here?"

"There's a Hogsmeade trip tomorrow," Remus said, leaning comfortably against one of the student tables. "and I'll be going along as chaperone."

Snape raised one eyebrow. "You have my condolences."

"Yes, well, while I'm there, I thought if there's anything you're running low on, for your brewing, I mean..."

"My potion stores are more than adequate," Snape said quickly. "Regardless, I'm capable of restocking supplies myself if necessary."

Lupin regarded him shrewdly. "Of course you are. You just seemed a bit tired at breakfast this morning and I thought..."

"It's the end of term, Lupin. Everyone is tired." Damn him anyway. He was quiet and unassuming and too bloody observant for his own good. Snape tried to change the subject quickly.

"That is a most unfortunate choice of neckwear," he said, drawing his cloak more tightly around himself as another shiver coursed through him.

Remus lifted one end of the purple and blue scarf that was twined around his neck and smiled ruefully.

"Not the colors I would have chosen, no," he agreed. "But it was a gift from Gloriana and it's quite soft and very warm. He motioned towards the lumpy parcel that was sitting forgotten on the far edge of Snape's desk. "I see she made one for you as well. You really should put it on. It definitely takes the chill off."

"She knitted a scarf...for me?" Snape poked it with one long finger, nearly expecting the package to explode or melt.

"She made one for all her professors. Unfortunately, she didn't take Filius'...ah...stature into consideration when she made his. Turquoise and yellow; and it nearly covers him, poor man."

One corner of Snape's mouth quirked at the mental image of Professor Flitwick muffled from head to toe in a garish scarf. His momentary lapse in concentration cost him his control and he had to turn away quickly to stifle a harsh sneeze in the crook of his arm.

"My goodness," Remus said, concern evident in his voice. "Bless you. Not coming down with something, I hope?"

"Of course not," Snape said, sniffling miserably, as he searched fruitlessly through his pockets for a handkerchief.

"I'm pleased to hear it," he said. "There's a nasty cold making the rounds and it would be a shame to be ill on Christmas." Wordlessly Remus stepped forward and placed a handkerchief on the edge of Snape's desk. He raised a hand in farewell as he turned and made his way from the classroom.

Snape picked up the handkerchief between his thumb and forefinger and looked at in distaste. He would rather wipe his nose on his best cloak than borrow this from Lupin, but he stuffed it into the pocket of his robes, just in case.

Of course there was a cold making the rounds. With all the pestilential little first-years running about, how could there not be? But even if he were catching a cold, which seemed unlikely, it would be easy enough to throw off. He had yet to encounter a situation or person he could not bend to his will and his health was no different.

He sighed as he stood slowly and began collecting his things. He would return to his quarters, have a cup of tea to soothe his aching throat, maybe a short rest in front of the fire to dispel some of the chill and then he would start the Wolfsbane. His gaze fell on the lumpy parcel still sitting on his desk and without quite knowing why, he picked it up and tucked it under his arm before making his way out of the classroom toward his room.

He would be fine. It was just a matter of willpower.


	2. Chapter 2

The door to Snape's potions storeroom rode back smoothly on its hinges with just slight pressure against the wood. He raised his wand but decided against lighting the torches for what would be a brief visit and instead murmured _"Lumos,"_ using the flare of wand light to guide himself to the far corner of the room. He knelt slowly in front of a small cupboard set under a low shelf. Lifting the latch carefully, he hesitated before opening the door. The memories here were nearly as thick as the patina of dust covering the scrollwork of the cabinet. He reached inside, his fingers going intuitively to what he sought: a small, intricately carved wooden box. With one hand he set his wand on the shelf, the light falling softly and illuminating the box now cradled in his lap.

Snape traced the detailed carvings in the wood, his fingers smoothing over the stylized initials "L.E." He had spent hours alone in his room over summer holidays, working on this box using only a simple pocketknife. It had been meant as a gift for Lily; the deepest expression of his affection and regard. His thoughts began to drift back to that first miserable winter at Hogwarts. It hadn't been what he had expected. Suddenly, knowing magic was nothing special. He was nothing special. Everyone else at school knew magic and he had been desperate to find some way to prove himself. The sole bright spot had been Lily. Although they had both been struggling, trying to find their respective places and still feeling unmoored at being separated, he was suffering more than she.

During a bitterly cold week that winter they had both contracted a flu that was hard to shake, even with the use of Pepperup. More for him than for herself, Lily wrote home and requested a special tea blend her mother had always used when she was ill as as a child. Over the next week, stealing private moments from their days, they would find hidden meeting spots to share the tea. He could still taste the astringent bite of the tea and see her sitting across from him, her green eyes brilliant as she watched him over the rim of her cup. The tea had been soothing, but it was more her presence and her absolute acceptance of him that was truly healing. It was one of his few happy memories of school, an memory untainted by any darker association.

Snape carefully lifted the lid of the box and withdrew a small muslin bag. He hefted it in his hand, smiling faintly at the delicate pattern of the material, remembering how everything in Mrs. Evan's life had been floral-themed, right down to the names of her daughters. He pulled the neck of the bag open and spilled a small amount of the herbal mixture into his hand. The tea leaves had long since degenerated into dust after sitting unused for nearly twenty years. It would be impossible to identify them by sight and he didn't trust his sense of smell tonight; not with what he now admitted was a burgeoning head cold.

He stirred the leaves with one finger and brought his hand to his face to take a cautious sniff. Just as he feared, he couldn't discern any scent; at least not enough to identify any of the herbs. As he sighed in frustration, he accidentally breathed in some of the fine powder. Inhaling sharply, he closed his hand protectively around the mixture while scrabbling madly with his other hand for the handkerchief he had tucked away earlier. He hadn't wanted to accept it at the time but was now very glad he had as he pressed it to his face, trying to contain the sudden strong sneeze provoked by the dust and his worsening cold. He was dimly aware of footsteps passing in the corridor, and as another sneeze overtook him he tried to make as little sound as possible. It wouldn't do for a passing Slytherin to investigate a noise in the storeroom and find his Head of house crouched on the floor with a handful of dusty tea leaves.

When the paroxysm finally passed and he had wiped his eyes and attended to his nose as best he could with only one hand, Snape turned his attention back to the handful of herbs that had luckily escaped being scattered. As he uncurled his fingers, he found the heat from his hand had released the aromatics in the herbs and the sneezing fit, though uncomfortable, had cleared his head a bit. He took another tentative sniff and could finally detect the base ingredients of sage, elderflower, peppermint,calendula and even the subtle apple scent of chamomile. After making a mental catalogue of the necessary herbs, he dusted his hand on his leg.

As he replaced the bag in the box, his fingers brushed against a hard but delicate object. Holding it gently between his thumb and finger, he lifted it into the light and felt his chest constrict. A hair comb. Hers.

Watching the wand light play over the surface of the comb as he turned it in his fingers, the day he had found it still vivid in his memory. Lily hadn't noticed when it dropped from her thick red tresses in potions class where, thanks to the damp environment, she always fought a losing battle with keeping her hair contained. His attention had been divided then as he kept one eye on his potion and one eye on the comb where it lay unnoticed under a table. Later, after class, he waited until he was sure no one was watching and tucked it into an inside pocket of his robes. He had carried it with him every day after that, almost as a talisman; a tangible reminder of the one lovely and gentle thing in his life.

Snape shook his head, bringing himself abruptly back to the present. He replaced the comb and roughly shoved the box into the far reaches of the cupboard. He had come to the storeroom to gather ingredients for the tea he hoped would ease his symptoms, not to grow maudlin over past events he couldn't alter.

He could feel a creeping malaise making his thoughts muddy and his movements clumsy. He resisted the growing desire to stretch out on the floorboards in this dark, quiet space and slowly unfurled himself from the floor. He had far too much to do tonight to allow himself the luxury of rest and unfortunately, he knew he was well and truly ill now; becoming overly sentimental was the first indication.

* * *

_"Severus?"_

Snape was drifting in and out of a fitful doze, dreams and reality interweaving, but he was dimly aware of a voice calling his name; not the harsh epithet used by his father or the jeering permutation heard during his school days, but a soft, kind voice. He slowly regained full consciousness, first becoming aware of rough fabric under his cheek where it rested against the wing of his armchair, then of the chill air in the room. He opened his eyes and listened intently. Perhaps he had dreamed it?

"Severus, are you in?"

There it was again, followed by a soft but persistent knocking. Someone was standing outside the door to his room. Had he failed to raise the wards after he'd entered his quarters earlier? He couldn't remember. The room was dark and cold, the fire burnt down to embers. Snape tried to lift his head, but groaned when the muscles in his neck seized up from his awkward sleeping position. He shivered, drawing his cloak more tightly around himself with one hand and massaging the tightness in his neck with the other.

When the knocking continued, Snape braced himself on the arms of the chair and tried to rise but his head swam with sudden dizziness and he fell backwards again. He tried to call out, but the dryness and scratchiness in his throat had deepened into a searing rawness and raising his voice was too painful. He searched for his wand, finally locating it between the arm of the chair and the cushion, where it had fallen while he slept. He pointed it towards the door and there was a soft click as the lock disengaged.

"Go away," he attempted to say, but managed only a hoarse croak. There was the faint rustle of robes as the visitor entered and stood just inside the doorway. The remaining light in the room was too dim for Snape to make out any features and he impatiently set the fire to blazing again. When he realized it was Lupin standing there, a hesitant smile on his face, he wished he had left the room dark.

"Forgive the intrusion," Remus said. "We missed you at supper tonight and I thought I'd check on you before I retired."

Lupin's smile quickly changed to a quizzical expression and he walked toward the fireplace, withdrawing his wand from his robes as he approached. Snape tensed, his hand tightening around the handle of his own wand, prepared to defend himself if necessary. He watched Lupin intently as he crouched near the hearth. Just as Snape was opening his mouth to ask what in the bloody hell Lupin thought he was doing, he realized he had spotted the remnants of the teacup; the full teacup he had been attempting to _Accio_ when it crashed to the floor. Lupin murmured a cleansing spell and repaired the broken cup. He looked up at Snape and smiled.

"I'll make you another, shall I?"

"There's no need," he protested, his voice still failing him.

Remus was already moving towards the small kitchen area. Snape sank a little further into his chair, growing increasingly uncomfortable at the idea of having Lupin in his room. It was another sign of how much he had allowed the illness to take over. Had he been feeling like himself, Lupin never would have made it past the wards, let alone be bustling about in his quarters like a housemaid, straightening and making tea. He would have been unceremoniously tossed out.

Snape heard a spoon hit the floor with a clatter and he turned slightly in his chair to see Remus, head bowed, standing rigid and trembling. He wasn't transforming now, surely? The full moon wasn't for another eleven days.

"Lupin!" Snape's sharp tone seemed to bring Remus out of his daze. "Whatever is the matter with you?"

"Sorry...I'm sorry. Nothing's wrong, I just thought..." Lupin bent to retrieve the spoon, seemingly unwilling to finish his thought. He carried the cup of tea over to a nearby table and set it down, the cup rattling loudly in its saucer as he tried and failed to keep his hands steady.

"It was...." Lupin cleared his throat, still unwilling to make eye contact, staring over Snape's head. "The scent of the tea seemed familiar somehow."

Snape felt a knot of resentment twist in his chest. Of course Lily had shared the tea with her friends, but he guarded his memories of her jealously and had no wish to share them with anyone, least of all Lupin.

Remus stood watching him, arms folded, until Snape was thoroughly rattled.

"Now what is it?" Snape asked sharply.

"If I remember correctly," he said, gentle sorrow on his face. "You should drink that straightaway while it's still hot."

Snape was still unsettled and, God help him, more than a little frightened in Lupin's presence. Every time he looked at Remus he was instantly transported to that evening at the Shrieking Shack and the horror of seeing a werewolf slavering and snarling just a few feet from him. Snape shuddered and tried to shake off the vision; one that had haunted him almost every night since Lupin's return to Hogwarts.

"Why this nauseating display of concern suddenly? You needn't fear I won't prepare your potion this month. It's not necessary to keep an eye on me."

"It's not that at all," Remus said quietly. "I'm just sorry you have to go to such trouble on my account, especially when you're not feeling well."

"On your account?" Snape laughed bitterly. "Do you think I brew a complicated potion every month for your benefit? I do it only at the Headmaster's request, for the protection of everyone in the castle."

"Believe me, if there were any other way..."

"We could let you run amok in the castle during your transformation, perhaps attacking and infecting innocent children, would that be preferable?"

There was a brief flash of anger on Lupin's face before the impassive expression fell over his features again. "It wasn't my fault."

"The original bite was not, true, but your recklessness when you were old enough to know better was entirely your responsibility."

Lupin flushed. When he spoke, his words were heavy with guilt. "You must believe I had no knowledge of their plan. When James told me what happened, I was furious. It very nearly cost us our friendship."

"And what a pity that would have been," Snape sneered. "To lose the affection of a bully, a sniveling little toady and a vicious murderer. You would have been better off alone, Lupin."

"As I am now?" Remus sighed and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I apologize. I didn't come here to check up on you or to argue. Whether you care to admit it or not, you are ill, and I'll leave you in peace so you can rest."

"I would like nothing more," Snape said, managing to rise smoothly and stand without wavering despite the persistent wooziness he felt when upright. "Unfortunately, I have a night's brewing ahead of me."

Remus nodded and began to speak but instead shook his head and turned to walk towards the door. He paused and without turning to look at Snape said softly, "I miss her, too."


	3. Chapter 3

Snape stood in front of the simmering cauldron in his workroom, motionless save for a deep shudder that occasionally coursed through him as he shivered in the dark and cheerless space. He had been working for nearly two hours and had reached the halfway point; the most crucial stage in the brewing process for Wolfsbane. When it lightened in color, which would happen without warning, he would have to immediately remove it from the fire and add agrimony simultaneously. Any delay would ruin the potion's efficacy. His quick reflexes had always served him well when preparing Wolfsbane in the past and he always seemed to know instinctively at what point the potion would begin to turn.

He shifted his weight and reached over to pick up the jar of agrimony, sliding his wand free with his other hand and holding it ready, not taking his eyes from the surface of the burbling potion. It would be soon, very soon, but his concentration was now divided between his task and holding his breath, trying to ignore the maddening prickling in his nose that had unfortunately returned, thanks to the damp and cold atmosphere in the room. The potion swam in his vision as his eyes began to water from the rapidly mounting urge to sneeze.

_Not now_, he told himself sternly. _Just a few more minutes_.

Trying not to take his eyes from the cauldron, he turned his head and pressed his nose into his right shoulder in an attempt to rid himself of the tickle. When he realized he was helpless to stop it, he turned as far away as he could, not wishing to contaminate the potion. The harsh sneeze echoed in the quiet space and he was forced to swipe quickly at his nose with his wrist, as he couldn't risk dropping either his wand or the jar of agrimony.

Snape tossed his head, trying to flick away the hair that had fallen across his face and turned his attention back to the cauldron. He cursed loudly when he saw the Wolfsbane, now thickened and turned a sickly shade of grey. He had missed it. Almost two hours of work wasted. He set the jar of agrimony down forcefully and pulled out the now sodden handkerchief to attend to his nose, cursing under his breath.

"Language, Severus," came a chiding voice. Madam Pomfrey stood framed in the doorway of his workroom, her white robes appearing almost luminous in the dim light.

"Poppy," he said in greeting, quickly stowing the handkerchief in a pocket. "To what do I owe this unusual pleasure?"

"Remus stopped by the infirmary a bit earlier. He seemed to think you might need some assistance with the Wolfsbane preparation tonight."

"He was mistaken. Now if you'll kindly leave me alone, I can continue and you can return to the infirmary where your ministrations are actually required."

"Oh, don't try and intimidate me, " she scoffed. "I've known you since you were a knobby-kneed little first-year." She moved into the room and peered into the cauldron. Her eyebrows shot up as she took in the appearance of the Wolfsbane, now congealed into a pasty lump at the bottom. "Didn't add the agrimony at the proper time, I take it?"

"I was distracted," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"Were you?" she said, turning to stare at him intently. "That doesn't sound like you at all." As she studied him, Snape noticed with some dismay that her face began to soften. He was quite familiar with her broody look and steeled himself for what he knew was coming.

"Why, Severus," she said. "You're ill. Not the cold that's been going around?"

"It's nothing to concern yourself with," he said shortly, clearing the ruined potion from the cauldron with a flick of his wand. From the corner of his eye, he saw Poppy remove her own wand from her pocket and trace a complicated pattern in the air.

"You have a fever," she chided. "You should be in bed, not skulking about in this wretched place."

"I am not _skulking_," he said. "It's imperative I finish the Wolfsbane tonight. It's ineffective unless Professor Lupin takes it for an entire week prior to his transformation."

Poppy was silent for a moment, and he knew she was figuring the remaining days until the full moon. "That still gives you three days."

He sighed and began measuring out fresh ingredients on the worktable. "Yes, but Wolfsbane is unpredictable. It can take up to seventy-two hours to reach full strength after the final brewing phase."

"And now you'll have to start from the beginning."

"I was aware of that, thank you, Poppy." He could feel a growing tightness in his chest and turned away as he began to cough. He was bent nearly in half as the spasm racked his thin frame. He had finally given up any hope of throwing this illness off and he deeply resented having Poppy be a witness to his weakness. Snape turned and leaned wearily against the edge of the worktable, eyes closed. He twitched away irritably when he felt Poppy move beside him and press a handkerchief into his hands.

"Here," she said. "Wipe your eyes. And blow your nose."

He glared at her but did as he was told.

"Now," she said. "Brewing Wolfsbane takes complete concentration and quick reflexes, both of which you seem to be lacking tonight. I'd like to help, if you'd let me."

He hooked a foot around the legs of a nearby stool and drew it towards him. He sank down onto the seat, resting his elbows on his knees with his fingers intertwined. Head bowed, he studied his hands which were shaking with a fine tremor, whether from the chill air or fatigue he couldn't tell, but he was nearing his limit for the day. He had never sought help before, never wanted it, but he wasn't entirely certain he could finish in time if he worked alone tonight.

"You can't stay away from the infirmary for the time it would take to finish the potion," he said quietly, uncertain if he wanted Poppy to convince him otherwise or not.

"Then we'll move to the dispensary. It's much pleasanter there and you can rest a bit while we're working." She bent to retrieve a large box from the floor. "Just tell me what we'll need."

* * *

"First things first," she said briskly as they entered the dispensary. "I doubt very much you've had anything to eat today, so I'm going to bring you a bowl of soup." She thumped the overflowing box of potion ingredients down and indicated a low couch against the wall.

"I really don't want anything."

She held up a hand to silence his protests. "Sit," she said firmly. "I'll be back in a moment."

The couch was situated to a side of a large worktable directly underneath a shuttered window. There was a cheerful fire crackling in the grate and bright moonlight filtering through the slats of the shutters. It was clean and quiet and warm in the little room. He would sit down, just for a few minutes, and rest until it was time to begin. Surely there was no harm in that. It was a tangible relief to sink his aching body into the plush softness and lean his head against the rounded back of the couch. Completely against his will, his eyes began to drift shut.

He startled awake when he heard Poppy bustle back into the room. She set a small bowl on the table within his reach. He averted his eyes from the steam eddying from the surface. It hadn't been an empty protest; he really didn't want anything. And while he wasn't exactly nauseated exactly, his stomach was setting up a vigorous protest just at the thought of food.

"So," said Poppy briskly, removing a silver knife from a drawer and beginning to hone the blade. "Tell me where to begin."

"I'll do that," he said, struggling to rise from the low couch.

"Nonsense," said Poppy, testing the edge of the blade with her thumb. "This is the most tedious part and I'm more than capable of handling it. You're going to need your strength for the later stages." She gave him a severe look. "Try to eat a little something. And don't slurp. I have to concentrate."

He ignored her and leaned forward so he could watch her work instead. "The nettle first, Poppy. Check the balance point of the blade; you want a very fine chop on this." He followed her movements critically, prepared to take over if necessary, but she was precise and worked quickly and he gradually relaxed, only advising her of the next ingredient and specific instructions for its preparation. When she was in the midst of soaking the burdock root and they had a few moments to wait, he pulled the soup bowl over and lifted it down. Poppy gave him an approving glance.

"It's vegetable beef," she said. "My own recipe. Not that house elf dreck. Go on, take a sniff."

As he raised the bowl towards his face, he realized with a sinking feeling that he still couldn't smell a thing. He replaced the bowl roughly and dropped his head into his hands.

"What's the matter?"

"The final stage," he muttered, not looking up. "The final ingredient can only be added when the Wolfsbane's scent changes."

"And?"

"And thanks to this untimely cold, I won't be able to detect the change."

"A minor detail," she said, stirring the burdock root slowly. "Describe the scent to me."

"Impossible. It would be the same as...as trying to describe a piece of music to someone who's never heard it."

"Well, we're hours from that point," she said soothingly. "Just rest, and perhaps you'll be feeling better by then."

* * *

Poppy looked up from the worktable, grimacing and rubbing her neck. "My eyes are beginning to go crosswise," she complained. "And if I'm to stay awake, I'll need some tea. Would you care for a cup? We have a while until the base reaches a full boil."

"No, thank you."

"I'll bring you one anyway," she said, ignoring his sigh of impatience.

In her absence, he approached the table warily to inspect her work. There were neat piles of ingredients and a rack of glass phials, all laid out carefully in the order they would be needed for the potion. So absorbed was he in ensuring all was in place, he did not notice when Poppy re-entered the room. He was startled to hear her quiet voice beside him.

"And does the Potions Master approve?" she asked lightly.

"It's passable."

"Why, Severus," she said, looping her arm through his and leading him back towards the couch. "Stop being so effusive, you'll make me blush."

He accepted the cup from her, which in his hand looked ridiculously dainty, but did not drink. Now he remembered why he had never sought Poppy's assistance before; he despised meaningless chit-chat and there were certainly enough opportunities for it while brewing Wolfbane. But to her credit, Poppy was a sensible and intuitive woman and she seemed content to merely sit with him while she sipped her tea and he warmed his hands around the steaming cup.

* * *

Four hours had gone by and Snape had long since passed from fatigue to a restless, jittery state. He prowled nervously around the edges of the room, stopping occasionally to draw near the cauldron although he was still unable to smell much of anything. They could not miss the most crucial moment, or the entire night's work would be wasted. He rounded on Poppy, who was standing nearby, watching him warily.

"Have you noticed anything yet?"

"I'm trying," she said in frustration, as she ladled up a bit of the potion and closed her eyes before taking a deep sniff. "But I don't think it's changed at all." He had finally described the scent to her as 'sharp and pungent yet subtle.'

He growled in frustration and turned away from her, resuming his circuit of the room. They couldn't bodge this again; there would be no time to start anew if they did. A sudden cry from Poppy caused him to whirl back towards her.

"For the love of...!" she exclaimed, coughing and waving a hand in front of her face, her eyes streaming. "That's what you call 'subtle?'" She pulled the edge of her robes to cover her mouth and nose.

Snape leaned over the cauldron, peering anxiously at the surface of the Wolfsbane. It was the proper color and consistency. He sighed in relief. They were almost done.

"Hand me the valerian, Poppy," he said, not taking his eyes from the potion. In the edge of his vision he saw her reach across the table and extend her hand to throw open the shutters. "Don't open a window," he warned. "The room has to stay at a consistent temperature."

He measured out a small handful of the herb and scattered it across the surface of the Wolfsbane. The moment it contacted the potion, a thick cloud of black smoke began to swirl upward from its surface.

"Get ready to cast a shield charm around the cauldron, Poppy...on my mark." He raised his wand and nodded to Poppy who took her place across from him. He closed his eyes to gather his strength. "Now," he said, and as together they raised the shield, Snape felt energy flow out of him in a sudden rush. He staggered backwards and fell heavily against the couch, eyes closed and chest heaving with the effort the night's work had cost him. Colors swam in his vision and a high, keening noise filled his head.

He felt Poppy settle herself on the couch nearby, but didn't trust himself to open his eyes just yet. After a few moments, when he was no longer on the verge of losing consciousness and had composed himself a bit, he tried to push himself up to a sitting position but Poppy held him in place.

"You've gone completely pale," she told him. "Just lie still for a moment." It was much easier to obey than to argue with her.

"It's finished?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "It will need to stay shielded until the smoke turns from black to nearly white; which could take anywhere from twenty-four to seventy-two hours."

Poppy patted him on the shoulder and rose stiffly to her feet. She groaned as she straightened slowly, rubbing at the muscles in her back. "I believe that's the hardest night's work I've ever done." She covered a huge yawn with her hand and looked down at where Snape was still sprawled in a heap. "And you prepare this every month, by yourself," she said softly, her voice filled with wonderment.

He didn't want to talk. What he wanted more than anything at the moment was to sleep. He could feel it stealing over him as he lay there under Poppy's watchful gaze and could only manage a soft grunt in reply. He sighed as a soft blanket settled heavily over him and gentle hands tucked it in carefully. He was only vaguely aware of someone lowering the torchlight in the room and murmuring comforting words and smoothing his hair back from his face before he drifted into a deep sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Before he was even fully awake, Snape was conscious of someone moving about in his room. He could hear quiet, cautious footfalls, the soft sounds of a cabinet opening, jars being moved about and drawers squeaking open and shut. Who was in his room, messing about in his stores? He opened his eyes, blinking against the light pouring through the windows, which soon proved too intense for the pain pulsing in his head. As Snape lay there, it occurred to him that the light was also much too bright to be coming from the high windows in his dungeon rooms. Where was he exactly?

"I'm sorry I woke you," he heard a soft, concerned voice say, adding further to his confusion until he realized the voice belonged to Poppy. The memories of the previous day began to gradually filter into his consciousness. He must still be in the dispensary. He had spent a restless night on what had proven to be a hard and unyielding couch after a hellish late-night brewing session. He raised himself slowly and swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the couch. He always felt a little tired the day after Wolfsbane preparation, that was expected, but he was experiencing fatigue on a massive scale, exacerbated by a pounding headache. He ran his fingers through his hair which was hanging heavily against his face and rested his head in his hands, feeling the rasp of stubble on his cheeks.

"You look dreadful this morning," Poppy said. "How are you feeling?"

He still felt ill, wretchedly so, but he couldn't bear to have Poppy fluttering about, making sympathetic noises.

"I'm fine," he said shortly, and just the act of speaking a few words provoked a round of harsh coughing.

"Yes, you sound quite healthy," she said after he had finally caught his breath. "Isn't there anything I can give you that would help?"

"You know there isn't," he said wearily, slipping his feet back into boots he couldn't remember having removed. "Not unless I'd care to add intractable vomiting to my other delightful symptoms."

He straightened slowly, groaning at the twinges of pain in his back. A quick check on the Wolfsbane and then he was going back to his room to suffer in complete and blessed solitude. As he made his way over to the simmering cauldron, he stumbled slightly from a combination of fatigue and lightheadedness. It didn't escape Poppy's notice but he brushed off her offer of support with a growing sense of irritation.

"Keep an eye on the Wolfsbane today, Poppy," he said, noting that the smoke swirling upward from the surface of the potion had lightened considerably. "It may only take another twelve hours or so before it's completed." Although he knew he was inviting another intrusion, he didn't trust anyone but himself to recognize when it would be ready and added, "Let me know when the smoke turns completely white."

"Of course," Poppy said, as she retrieved his cloak from the floor where it had fallen last night. "You're going back to your room to rest, aren't you?" Her tone made it more of a command than a question.

"That was my intention."

"Of course, if you'd rather, you're welcome to stay here."

"Stop fussing, Poppy," he said, struggling into his cloak.

"I think it's high time someone fussed over you a bit," she said, smoothing the folds of his cloak, her forehead creased with concern. "You haven't been taking care of yourself."

He could think of no response for this; at least nothing that didn't sound surly and unappreciative of the help she had given him.

"Thank you for your assistance last night," he said finally, finding it difficult to meet her gaze. Sharp words always came more easily to his mind than pleasantries, and outright expressions of gratitude were almost embarrassing.

"It was my pleasure," she said. "Shall I check on you later?"

Snape shook his head. All he wanted was some tea, a long, hot soak in the bath and to be left entirely alone. If he could make it to his quarters without encountering anyone, he would ward the door and not emerge until he was recovered or dead and at this point he wasn't sure which option he favored.

* * *

He was nearly there. He had made the trip between the infirmary and his quarters in excellent time, keeping to the less-traveled side corridors, and to his immense relief, hadn't met anyone along the way, neither students nor staff. He was feeling worse the longer he was on his feet; feverish and shivery, the pressure in his head worsening, but the thought that he was only moments away from a long rest in a cool, dark room kept him moving forward.

"Severus, there you are! I was just looking for you."

Snape's hand flexed convulsively where it rested on the door to his quarters. He had been so close. With a tremendous sigh, he turned to face Professor McGonagall as she walked briskly towards him.

"Good heavens, man!" Minerva exclaimed as she closed the distance between them. "You look as though you've been dragged through a hedge backward. Whatever in the world happened to you?"

"Late night," he said, hoping a brief explanation would suffice. His voice was nearly gone and forming coherent thoughts was becoming more difficult. As he leaned against the heavy door for support, he noted with some trepidation that although Minerva's mouth was set in a tight line of disapproval, her eyes were sparkling with merriment.

"Anyone I know?"

"I was brewing last night," he said, trying to unlatch the door with one hand behind his back. "Wolfsbane."

"Ah. Well then, I won't keep you. But the Hogsmeade trip is later today, you know."

Snape wasn't sure why everyone felt it necessary to inform him of this at every turn, especially when he wasn't even on the schedule as a chaperone. Or was he? He felt a knot of dread in his stomach at the prospect of being asked to accompany the students to Hogsmeade in his condition.

"And?" he said reluctantly, not particularly wanting to know the answer.

"The Weasley twins are on the list, but they have detention with you this morning. How long do you plan to keep them?"

Snape passed a hand over his eyes, resignation and weariness weighing on him heavily. At Minerva's chuckle, he directed a dark glare at her.

"Now don't tell me it slipped your mind. I thought assigning detentions was the highlight of your week."

* * *

"I am in no mood for any of your nonsense this morning," Snape warned the twins in a low, dangerous tone as he entered the classroom. At his words, both Fred and George sat a little straighter in their seats. He had very little voice left, but he had never had to shout to command attention from his students.

"Mr. Weasley," he said, indicating Fred...or was it George? He had never really learned to tell them apart. "In the student stores you will find a box of bottled armadillo bile. Some of it, unfortunately, has turned and is no longer effective. Your task today is to sort out the fresh from the spoiled."

"Excuse me, sir," one twin asked, in an overly polite manner with an unnecessary emphasis on "sir" that prompted a warning look from Snape. "But how will we know the difference?"

"It will be quite obvious, I can assure you." As Snape took his place at his work desk, he added, "And if you need to leave the room to vomit, please do so quietly."

The twins cut their eyes toward one another, and their identical apprehensive expressions almost made him smile as he retrieved the student potion samples from under his desk.

Time seemed to drag on interminably as he sat marking, the monotonous silence relieved only by an occasional muffled oath from Fred or George as the stench of rancid armadillo bile arose from the bottles. Neither had left the room yet, but both appeared slightly ill, eyes watering from the overpowering odor. There was at least one advantage to a miserable head cold and an inability to smell anything.

As Snape popped the cork on the last student phial, sparks shot up a few inches from the opening and he recoiled, holding the phial at arm's length, narrowly avoiding having his hair singed.

"Wicked," he heard one twin mutter to the other. "How do you suppose they got it to do that?"

"Surprised it didn't cause a grease fire."

"Think we could nick a bit of it when he's not looking?"

Snape quickly vanished the potion and set the phial aside, sinking his head into his hands. He should extend their detention period for that remark, he really should, but he'd had enough. It had been less than an hour, but any longer and it would cease being a punishment for the twins and become a punishment for him.

He massaged the bridge of his nose wearily, with a growing sense of unease. His head was completely congested and there was a deep, searing pain in his sinuses that was intensifying with each minute. He knew what was coming and had no wish to listen to the quips that were sure to follow. He rose quickly from his desk, heading for the store room, but before he reached the door he had to stop and cup his hands over his face as he doubled over with a forceful sneeze. The harsh, stifled sound echoed in the cavernous space and in the ringing silence that followed, one of the twins snickered.

"Excuse me, Fred," George said in a whisper that carried to where Snape was standing. "But did you hear that?"

"I did, but I'm not sure what it was. A rutting Hippogriff, perhaps?"

"No, I think it was Professor Snape. Is he ill, d'you reckon? He doesn't look well."

"He looks _terrible_, even for him."

"That is quite enough," Snape said, turning and striding down to where they were working. "You may leave, but I am warning you. If I ever catch you using my classroom as a testing lab again, I will personally see to it that you are both expelled. Are we quite clear?"

"Yes, sir," they chorused, managing to inject the proper note of humility into their response although neither appeared in the least bit guilty.

"And a word of advice," he added, stopping them in their hurried progress towards the door. "Before you use an experimental potion on anyone, you must have the proper antidote handy...or did you think I wouldn't notice Miss Moore's unfortunate lack of eyebrows?"

They glanced toward one another, surprised grins on their faces.

"She was a good sport, that one," George said appreciatively.

As he watched the twins saunter out of the room, Snape hoped he had thoroughly infected the both of them.

* * *

He lay perfectly still in his bed, drifting in and out of a light doze. He had lost complete track of time. There were a few nagging worries that entered his mind, but they vanished as quickly as they appeared. Earlier he had finally had a long soak in water as hot as he could stand, had managed a small meal, and although he still felt horrible, he had met all of his obligations and wouldn't need to move from his bed for the foreseeable future. Enveloped in the warmth of the eiderdown, the incessant aching in his bones beginning to ease, Snape felt peaceful. But as sleep began to take him under again, a noise intruded into his drowsy state and a sudden thought made him start up suddenly.

The Wolfsbane. He had completely forgotten about it. If it was ready and hadn't been put in stasis, the potion would be useless with no time to prepare another batch before the full moon.

Snape flung the covers aside and stumbled from his bed, hurriedly pulling a set of robes over his nightshirt. He wrenched the door open and came face to face with Minerva, her hand still poised as if to continue knocking.

"So the rumors are true," she said in greeting, taking in his disheveled appearance. "You are ill. Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"I have no time for this, Minerva," he said, trying to edge his way around her. "I'm on my way to the hospital wing."

"Are you worse?" she asked, her eyes widening. "I can fetch Poppy."

"No, no, of course not," he snapped impatiently. "The Wolfsbane..."

"...is completed and Poppy's put it under a stasis spell until it's needed. She asked me to let you know."

Snape sagged against the door frame in relief, running a shaking hand through his hair.

"May I come in?"

"Surely you can find other ways to occupy your time," he said. "A ball of yarn? Or perhaps a small rodent you could torment?"

"Why should I bother with those when you're much more entertaining?" she said, moving past him into the room. "Now back to bed with you. You look absolutely dreadful."

He started to reply, but the harsh, barking cough that had plagued him all day came over him again like a wave, leaving him breathless and trembling in its wake.

She rested a hand lightly on his back. "Are you feeling any better tonight?"

"Of course I'm not feeling better!" he said, shrugging away irritably from her touch. "I haven't had one moment's peace since I came down with this wretched cold. What's next? Maybe Filch is coming to sing me a lullaby? Hagrid's going to fluff my pillows and tuck me in?"

"That can be arranged, if you like," she said, drawing up a chair next to his bed.

"Oh, sod off, Minerva," he said, pulling off his robes and clambering back under the covers. "Why are you intent on harassing me tonight?"

"We missed you at supper and everyone was concerned, as hard as it may be for you to believe. Which reminds me," she said, bending to retrieve an object from the floor beside her chair. She held out a small paper bag emblazoned with the Honeyduke's logo. "They're from the Weasley twins."

He looked at the small striped bag doubtfully, refusing to accept it from her. How much of an idiot did she think he was?

"They're perfectly fine...I tested them," Minerva said, carefully placing the bag on the edge of the bed within his reach. "Apparently they were feeling rather guilty. Some errant remark about a grease fire, I believe." She turned her head, but not quickly enough to hide the teasing smile that suddenly creased her face.

"Go ahead and laugh, you old grimalkin, you know you want to."

She covered her mouth politely with one hand and tittered merrily. Although he would never admit it to her, he had always rather enjoyed hearing her laugh, even if it was at his expense.

"Oh, Severus," Minerva exclaimed, "I see you have a scarf, too." She rose to her feet and retrieved the package from the table where it was resting. "And you still haven't opened it. May I?"

"Gloriana's such a sweet girl but I think she must be a bit color blind," she continued, returning to her chair next to Snape's bed. She began to unwrap the package, folding the paper back neatly. "My scarf was a particularly bilious shade of green and yellow."

"I'm sure that looks lovely with your family tartan."

Minerva peeled back the final layer of paper and froze, a horrified expression on her face. "Oh dear, " she said softly.

"What is it?"

"Well, she must think very highly of you, Severus," she said, hastily pulling the wrapping closed. "She used her own favorite colors for yours."

He raised up on his elbows, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Show me."

"No, I don't think it's advisable in your condition."

He rolled over towards her and reached out one hand, pulling the paper back slowly. As it fell away, he wondered momentarily if the fever was affecting his eyesight because it looked very much like Gloriana had used pink and lavender yarn when crafting his scarf.

"I would sooner walk into the Great Hall starkers than wear anything pink and lavender," he groaned.

"You will tell me if you plan on doing that, won't you? I could sell tickets."

"Had I told you to sod off, Minerva? I can't recall," he said, falling heavily back onto his pillow and throwing an arm over his eyes.

"Not much fight in you tonight, is there?"

"None at all," he admitted.

"As a matter of fact, you haven't been yourself all term," she said. "And now, well, you're never ill. Not enough to take to your bed at least. I can't remember the last time. Maybe a few years ago, but we were all on edge with Harry's return..."

Her face very seldom betrayed strong feelings, but her brogue tended to thicken at times of emotion.

"Och," she said softly. "It's Professor Lupin, isn't it?"

"It may have slipped your mind, but he nearly killed me in our fifth year," Snape said tiredly. He didn't particularly want to talk about anything at the moment and least of all that.

"It wasn't intentional, Severus, you must believe that," she said. "There's as much malice in Remus as there is in you."

He lowered his arm to give her an incredulous look before turning away.

"Never mind about that," she said quickly. "You should rest."

"That's precisely what I've been trying to do, if everyone would leave me alone."

"Is there anything I can do for you before I go?"

"Yes. You can raise the strongest ward possible around my door and inform everyone I'm suffering from a highly contagious and disfiguring ailment."

"You have to get over this by Christmas," Minerva said, a plaintive note entering her voice. "How can I bear one of those insipid holiday luncheons without you?"

"I'm sure you'll manage."

She pulled the blanket up to cover his shoulders and patted him fondly. "I know you must have your reasons for keeping yourself so distant," she said quietly. "But no matter how it may seem to you, you're never alone."


	5. Chapter 5

Snape paced the confines of his sitting room, his mood an unsettling combination of agitation and lethargy. Minerva had been true to her word. He had seen no one since her visit earlier in the week, but despite uninterrupted time to rest, he was still unable to shake his damnable cold. He had faithfully prepared and attempted to consume the medicinal tea every day, but swallowing was still painful and it hadn't much of an effect. Sleep, when it came at all, was fitful and restless and haunted by dreams of being suffocated and he would awaken to the all-too familiar sensation of tightness in his chest.

He stopped in his circuit and removed a book from the shelf, opened it and scanned his eyes over the words without comprehension. With a disgusted sigh, he slammed it shut and replaced it roughly. The knowledge that Lupin's first dose of Wolfsbane was due this morning was contributing to his unease. For the past several days he hadn't left his quarters at all, not even to collect his post, but now he had no choice. Recovered or not, he had a duty to perform and he only wished he felt a bit stronger.

As he lifted his robes from the bedside chair and prepared to shake them out, his gaze fell on the small bag that Minerva had delivered to his room. With a mingled sense of curiosity and faint desperation, he lifted the bag from the chair, sat down and cautiously peered into its depths. Right on top was a Flaming Fireball, wrapped in scarlet red cellophane, along with what appeared to be a note. He removed the intricately folded paper and held it carefully between finger and thumb; considering the source, anything could happen, and he was taking no chances. He unfolded the note and sat looking at it incredulously. Dear god. The twins had drawn little smiling faces and flowers and hearts all along the edges of the paper. Those two had to have a laugh no matter the circumstances, and for a moment he pondered deducting House points in absentia.

The written instructions from Fred and George indicated he should wrap his throat snugly to enhance to warming effect of the Fireball. He crumpled the note and stuffed it back in the bag. Surely they didn't know about the scarf? The knitted abomination was still where he had left it days ago, lying at the side of the pillow on his bed. He picked it up and studied it, noting somewhat reluctantly that despite its unfortunate color it appeared to be crafted well, the stitches fine and tight. He lifted it over his head and twined it about his neck, tucking it down into the collar of his robes as far as possible.

The scarf was very soft and very warm and as the Fireball dissolved on his tongue, the spreading heat not only began to ease the raw ache in his throat, even the lethargy that had been keeping him confined to his room seemed to be lifting. Snape waited, on edge, for any annoying or potentially embarrassing side effects, but as the minutes passed and there were none, he was forced to admit that, impossible as it may seem, it may have sincerely been a gesture of kindness on their parts.

* * *

The ward was empty as Snape stalked through the hospital wing, intent on reaching the dispensary as quickly as possible. With every step, he grew more agitated, thinking of what might await him. So many things could go wrong at every point in the brewing process and he never should have allowed this. He should have insisted on having the potion in his workroom where he could keep an eye on it and if it were now ruined because of his own self-indulgence, he would never forgive himself.

In the corridor just outside the dispensary entrance, he suddenly became aware of a familiar aroma and although relieved to know his sense of smell had returned, he could tell something was off. With a deepening sense of dread, he entered the room to see Poppy standing near the steaming cauldron of Wolfsbane, stirring rod in hand. Without a word of greeting, he approached her, staring intently at the seething surface of the potion. She shouldn't have attempted the final preparation alone; he should have been here.

"The Wolfsbane was in stasis for three days," he said quietly. "Did you notice if it had reduced before you brought it back to boil?"

"It had, a bit," she said, indicating the faint line rimming the cauldron where the level of the potion had dropped slightly.

"Damnit, Poppy," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was just as he had feared. The stasis field hadn't been strong enough and if the base ingredients had become concentrated before the potion was heated, the effects of the Wolfsbane could be unpredictable. "Have you a deflagration spoon anywhere?"

"I'm not sure," she said, looking a bit flustered as she pulled out drawers and rummaged through them. She finally located the tool at the back of an overstuffed drawer and passed it over to him.

Snape retrieved a flask from the tabletop. "Is there any of the valerian left from the other night?" he asked.

She bent to retrieve a box from under the table. "This is everything left over."

Using the flask, he dipped out a small amount of the potion and carried it over to the workbench. He heated the bowl of the spoon over a candle, watching intently as the small sample of potion began to bubble rapidly. Adding a pinch of the valerian, he was relieved when a small spiral of black smoke rose and quickly faded to white. He sagged, weak with relief that the Wolfsbane had apparently not been ruined by its time in stasis.

"Do you fret this much over all your potions?" Poppy asked, unable to keep the exasperation from her voice as she watched him.

"Only the ones that are this crucial to everyone's safety."

"Severus, I wish you would overcome this ridiculous prejudice you have towards Remus," Poppy said. "He poses absolutely no threat to anyone as long as he takes the Wolfsbane and keeps to his quarters when his transformation is near."

Snape took his time rinsing the flask and spoon at the nearby tap, not wishing to speak until the surge of anger had eased. Even so, when he turned toward her, something in his expression made her eyes widen and she took a step backwards.

"You're making dangerous assumptions about Lupin's character. If the Wolfsbane failed to work and he were somehow to escape his room, he would rip your throat out with no compunction whatsoever." Although he kept his voice low and calm, she still flinched slightly at the intensity of his tone and his pointed words.

He massaged his forehead wearily. It was pointless to argue with her. Both she and Minerva had a regrettable soft spot where Lupin was concerned.

"Headache?" she asked.

"Just tired," he sighed, shrugging away from the concerned hand she had placed on his arm. _Of everything._

"Then you should rest," she chided him. "I'll take the potion to Remus today."

"Are you familiar with the dosing schedule?" he asked. "It's to be administered every twelve hours for seven days..."

"...with the last dose given two hours before moon rise on the twenty-eighth," she finished with him. "Severus, I know. You drilled it into me over and over the other night."

Had he? His memories of the night they had spent brewing were hazy at best, especially towards the end of the evening. As tempting as it was to allow Poppy to take over now, disaster had been narrowly averted several times while he had been shirking his duties. It was his responsibility and no one else's.

* * *

Snape's footsteps echoed in the classroom as he ascended the steps to Lupin's office. The flask of Wolfsbane was trembling slightly in his grip and he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He was beginning to feel ill again the longer he was on his feet and he cursed under his breath when he saw Lupin's office was vacant. Snape approached the door to his quarters reluctantly, dreading the prospect of facing a werewolf nearing transformation in an enclosed space with only one exit.

He rapped sharply on the closed door, listening carefully but hearing nothing stirring within. Where could he be? He wasn't foolhardy enough to venture far from his quarters this near to the full moon, was he? Just as he had resigned himself to a search of the castle, the latch clicked open and Snape pushed the door back a few inches.

"Who's out there?" Lupin called in a weak voice.

"It's Professor Snape," he said, edging into the room. "I've brought your potion." As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could make out Remus sitting up in his bed, wedged uncomfortably into one corner, with his knees pulled up to his chest. He lifted his head, and Snape immediately recognized the pallor, the red-rimmed eyes and the dull, unfocused look that had stared back at him from the mirror every morning of the past week.

"Are you ill?"

"Why should you care?" he said in a tone that was petulant and challenging with the hint of a feral snarl underlying the words.

"Not for the reason you might think," Snape replied. "Any change in your physiology, including an infection, could render the potion ineffective." He walked close enough to the bed to set the smoking flask on a nearby table before retreating towards the door. The atmosphere in the room was uncomfortably close and humid and he was beginning to regret having worn his heavy cloak.

"I want you to drink that immediately," he said. Full absorption of the potion would occur over the span of an hour, but the sedative properties were short acting and would take effect in approximately fifteen minutes. He would wait, just to put his mind at ease. "I'm going to sit down now," he explained, wary of making any sudden moves. "And if the Wolfsbane appears to be having a different effect on you than usual, you must let me know."

"Very well," came the reluctant answer, punctuated with a painful-sounding cough.

"It's unfortunate that I cannot offer you any healing potions," he said into the awkward silence. "We don't know how they would interact with the Wolfsbane."

"It's fine," Lupin reassured him. "I've been through much worse, and in a few days a head cold will be the least of my concerns."

He lifted the flask from the table and eyed it with distaste, but downed it quickly. He covered his mouth with one hand as he spluttered and retched, but, to Snape's relief, managed to keep it down. Lupin finally looked up with an apologetic expression, his eyes watering. "Has a bit of a kick to it," he murmured.

Snape found himself feeling almost sympathetic towards him. They were alike in many ways; both enmeshed in circumstances that had spiraled out of their control. Lupin was handling his difficulties with a minimum of drama, simply doing what needed to be done and he could respect that.

As the minutes passed with no attempt at conversation, Snape swiped at his forehead and upper lip with his sleeve. He was sweating freely now in the overheated room and the beginning pulse of a headache was starting to throb in his temples. He was relieved when Lupin let his head loll back against the wall with a tired sigh, the Wolfsbane having its expected sedative effect on the man.

Snape rose, preparing to leave, but stopped when he heard the unmistakable sound of Lupin's teeth chattering as chills began to shake him. Although he was revulsed at the thought of approaching him again, Snape found he couldn't leave him shivering alone in his dimly lit room. With great reluctance he shook out the thin blanket at the foot of the bed and tossed it roughly over Lupin's quivering form.

"I'll return this evening with your second dose," he said. "You should try to sleep in the meantime, if you can."

Lupin nodded and stretched out, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. "It suits your complexion, you know," he said.

Snape turned to see a faint smile quirking the corners of Lupin's mouth.

"What suits my....? Oh, bloody hell!" he said in annoyance, realizing he hadn't bothered removing the hideous pink and lavender scarf before he left his room. Poppy had likely noticed it as well, which meant the news was now undoubtedly traveling through the castle. He untwined the scarf and stuffed it impatiently into the pocket of his cloak.

"Severus?"

"What is it now?" he asked. He was beginning to feel decidedly unwell, though whether from the lingering cold or the accumulated tension of the day he couldn't be sure.

"I wanted to thank you."

He sighed. "I've told you before, Lupin, I do this out of necessity-"

"I'm not talking about the Wolfsbane," he said sharply, and then in a softer tone, "Thank you for showing me some kindness."

* * *

The pain in Snape's head was worsening, settling behind his eyes, and he felt weak and shaky and slightly nauseous. The heaviness in his chest had also returned, making it difficult to draw a full breath, and he began to cough, each spasm causing the pain to clamp down more tightly until he had only a tenuous grip on consciousness, his field of vision narrowing as he sank down onto a bench in the corridor.

It seemed only moments later that he was lying supine on cool, starched sheets, staring up at Poppy's concerned face. How had he made it from Lupin's quarters to this cot in the Infirmary? He didn't think he had fainted but he seemed to have a vague recollection of attempting to stand and finding himself in a heap.

At his quizzical expression, Poppy explained, "We found you not far from Professor Lupin's office. We were afraid that..." And at this, she gulped noticeably, obviously shaken and not nearly as complacent as she liked to pretend. "...I checked you thoroughly for any signs of an attack."

"Nothing happened, Poppy," he said. "It was overwarm in his quarters." The vibration of speech was intensifying the persistent ache and he fell silent, pressing his face into the pillow.

He heard her footsteps recede and then a few moments later she approached him again, draping a cool, damp cloth across his forehead. He shuddered, and with an effort, snatched off the flannel. "That won't be necessary, Poppy," he said, dropping it to the floor. "I'm not staying."

"I see" she said mildly. "Well, if you insist on leaving, I certainly can't keep you here against your will."

Snape rolled and gripped the edge of the bed, preparing to rise, but the sudden movement made the room shift and when he opened his eyes, there was a faint corona around anything he tried to focus on, making him feel giddy and extremely ill. He sank back to the pillows, feeling slightly better while lying still with his eyes closed.

"You're not well, Severus," she said. "You're dehydrated and running a temperature and you're going to stay right where you are until you've recovered." Her voice softened and sounded almost pleading as she added, "Will you please, for once, just lie still and let someone care for you?"

He nodded, too weary to argue, and a sudden memory of Lily came into his mind unbidden: Her cool, gentle touch against his fevered skin, her furious indignation when he had laughed at her earnest, maternal expression and the unfamiliarity and wonderment of being cared for and fussed over. He drew a shuddering breath, trying to regain some control as the memory threatened to overwhelm his weakened defenses.

Poppy screened the bed in which he was resting, leaving him in peace. For hours he remained in the state between wakefulness and sleep, dipping into dreams and then resurfacing at nearby sounds or movement. As the light in the ward faded and the sick throbbing in his head began to ease, he finally fell into a deep sleep, startling awake what seemed liked only moments later at a nearby voice.

"It seems I've spent an inordinate amount of time at your bedside lately. People may begin to talk."

"Minerva?" he said, aware of the total darkness and silence of the surrounding ward, the only illumination a small, flickering candle on his bedside table. "Where is Poppy?"

"She's retired for the evening."

He sat up too quickly and his vision blurred and swam with a sudden wooziness; the aftereffects were proving nearly as miserable as the headache had been. "The second dose of Wolfsbane was due hours ago," he said, sinking his head into trembling hands.

"We're aware of that, Severus. Poppy prepared the potion and I delivered it to Professor Lupin's room."

"You took an unnecessary and foolhardy risk," he said.

She was sitting primly, her mouth a tight line as she studied him with her familiar, impatient expression. "Whatever gave you the notion that you're required to do everything yourself? This isn't some sort of penance, after all."

He edged to the side of the bed, then stood, wavering slightly on his feet. But that's exactly what it was. His penance.

"How was he when you saw him?"

"Resting comfortably, thanks to you."

He shook his head. No thanks to him. He had bodged this from the very beginning and it was only sheer luck that had kept them from calamity thus far.

Minerva rose to her feet and brushed off her robes, coming to stand next to him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he said, looking down at her.

"I'm accompanying you to your room, of course."

"I believe I can manage on my own, thank you."

"Of course," she said in an unconcerned manner. "But I thought you might like some company."

"You thought you'd keep an eye on me, you mean."

She didn't bother denying it as she smiled at him. Snape was still having some difficulty formulating coherent thoughts, but he was certain of one thing: Any weakness or vulnerability could be exploited and turned against him, and it was far too dangerous to allow it to continue.

"Good night, Minerva," he said pointedly, stopping her from following him out of the ward.

But as he descended the stairs, he was certain he could hear soft, padding footsteps behind him and as he stepped into the entrance hall, he turned to see a feline form in the shadows and an arched silver-gray tail disappearing into a nearby alcove.


	6. Chapter 6

_My thanks to everyone who has read "Never Alone" and my particular gratitude to those of you who have left a review. I appreciate all of your comments. Simply put, this story is a ridiculous bit of fluff that I wrote for myself over a long, miserable Christmas when I needed a little solace; it was never meant to be taken as a serious interpretation of characters or canon events. There is also no MM/SS or RL/SS intended; just friendship of a sort._

_The most frequent complaint I received was that the situations I wrote could not possibly have happened in canon, but this was never meant to be a canon-compliant story. Professor Snape was treated quite shabbily in canon on a disturbingly regular basis and Never Alone was my small attempt to somehow make amends. Professors McGonagall and Lupin and Madam Pomfrey were all acting rather out of character, admittedly, but their actions were a reflection of how I wish he had been treated and not representative of how I believe the canon characters would have genuinely reacted._

_This is the final chapter. Although it is brief and lacks a definitive ending , I do hope it's satisfying nonetheless for everyone who has followed the story. As before, I have no claims on either the characters or the setting; all belongs to JKR._

_

* * *

  
_

Professor Snape stood in the doorway of the Great Hall, his gaze going to the Enchanted Ceiling which was reflecting a brilliant blue sky with faint white clouds scudding by. For the first time in over two weeks, he was feeling like himself again and would have nearly been cheerful had it not been for the fact that the students were due back later in the morning. In anticipation of their return, the House tables had been replaced, as had the head table, so at least he wouldn't be forced to sit through breakfast while being glowered at by Potter and his minions.

He tensed as he heard footsteps descending the main staircase and he glanced over to see Remus hesitating at the bottom of the stairs, a host of fresh scratches and bruises standing out against the pallor of his skin. The injuries to his face indicated that perhaps the Wolfsbane hadn't been as effective as usual in controlling the feral aggressiveness during his transformation, but it had still served its purpose. They considered each other for a moment before Remus smiled faintly and said in a hoarse voice,

"You're looking well this morning, Severus."

"I wish I could say the same for you."

Lupin's smile faltered and he opened his mouth as if to reply, but instead he dropped his eyes and walked past him into the hall, moving toward the head table.

Keeping him within his sight, Snape made his way to the front of the room, considering his options carefully. Remus had taken a seat at the very end of the table, well away from the other staff members. There was a vacant chair remaining between Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey but he was in no mood for their fussing this morning. He could also turn around and return to his room, but Poppy had already caught his eye and was motioning him over. With a resigned sigh, he took the indicated seat between them.

"Severus," Minerva said as he sat, quickly turning her attention back to the cup of tea she was pouring. She was never terribly communicative in the morning and even less so today, her expression both grim and resigned, mirroring his own emotions concerning start of term. In contrast, Poppy was studying him intently, an overly-bright and rather fake-appearing smile creasing her face.

"How are you feeling this morning?" she asked, her chin propped in one hand, her other hand somewhere underneath the tabletop.

"Poppy, I know exactly what you're doing," he said, accepting the teapot from Minerva. "And if you don't put your wand away immediately I shall snap it in half."

"Well," she sniffed, tucking the wand away. "I see I needn't bother checking your vital signs after all. You're obviously back to normal."

"Stroppy as ever," Minerva agreed, stirring her tea vigorously. The clanking of the spoon against the cup grated against his already frayed nerves and he willed himself not to grab it from her hands and toss it across the room.

"Remus looks dreadful this morning," Minerva said, glancing along the table towards him where he was nibbling delicately at a slice of toast. "Will he be fit to teach tomorrow?"

"He'll be fine," Poppy reassured her. "Poor man had a wretched cold and couldn't take Pepperup so it's lingering a bit."

Professor Snape listened absentmindedly as Poppy and Minerva continued to fuss over Lupin. With their attention diverted, he began to apply himself to the first meal he'd been able to manage in days. It was pleasant to be left alone to his own thoughts and he was feeling rather content until Lupin began to cough - a hacking, congested sound that made him wince in disgust.

He certainly could understand how he was feeling. His own cough had persisted for days and was just now beginning to ease, but it made it no easier to listen to while he was trying to eat. Only one thing had proven effective, and as much as he despised the source of the sweets, for a few miserable days, they had been the only thing he could tolerate. He wasn't sure why he was still carrying the bag around in his pocket, but there were still a few sweets remaining.

"Would you kindly pass these to Professor Lupin?" he said impatiently, handing them over to Poppy. "Perhaps then I can finish my breakfast in peace."

"Really, Severus," she admonished him. "You sounded just as bad, if not worse, when you were ill."

"Yes, but as I recall, I didn't inflict my presence upon everyone else at the breakfast table."

Remus studied the bag where it rested on the table, hesitant, it seemed, to even look inside. But Poppy and Minerva were making sympathetic noises, urging him to try one. Excellent. Let the hens cluck over him for a while.

"You're coming along to meet the train this morning?" Minerva asked, turning back to him. "I know how you must have missed the students."

"Nothing would bring me greater joy," he said dryly.

"Except perhaps an untimely locomotive accident?"

He pushed his plate away with a heartfelt sigh. He wasn't in the least surprised to find his appetite had disappeared.

* * *

Professor Snape stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching impassively as the students trailed off the Hogwarts Express. No one acknowledged him, except with an occasional wary glance, until the Weasley twins made their appearance. As they loped past, one of them, George perhaps, raised a hand in a friendly greeting. Snape resisted his first impulse, which was to turn and look over his shoulder until he realized belatedly they had been waving to him. He managed a stiff nod in response. What had happened in the span of two weeks? Had the entire world gone mad while he had been shut away in his room?

Just as he convinced himself it had been a bad idea and was preparing to leave, the student he had been waiting for stumbled off the steps to the platform.

"Miss Sullivan," he called. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

He had to suppress a sudden surge of irritation as Gloriana froze in place, her face losing color, her eyes widening in fright. Was he _that_ horrifying? She looked as if she were going to bolt, or worse yet, faint dead away. This was precisely why he never bothered getting to know his students.

Gloriana tripped over her own feet as she approached him, nearly falling headlong, and he was forced to reach out a hand to steady her. She flinched backwards from his touch and stumbled again. He would have to make this quick or the girl would do herself a real injury.

"I trust you had a pleasant holiday?" he asked, trying to keep his voice low. All she could manage was a convulsive swallow as she stood staring up at him, her mouth gaping open slightly.

"Miss Sullivan?"

"Y...yes, sir," she finally quavered, a bright blush beginning to creep up her face.

"I wanted to thank you," he said, hoping that no one else could hear, "for the scarf."

And with that, and even more unsettling to him than her previous frightened expression, she suddenly beamed up at him. "You liked it?"

He searched his mind for what he could tell her that was still honest. "It was very thoughtful."

He became uncomfortably aware of a group of young Hufflepuff girls beginning to gather nearby. Even a pointed look in their direction did not have the desired effect of scattering them and they remained where they were standing, their faces expressing a mixture of curiosity and dread.

"And are you..." She faltered slightly, but seemed to draw fresh courage after glancing back at the group. "...are you, uhm, feeling any better, sir?"

He was speechless for a moment at her impertinence, but as he prepared to excoriate her for it, he thought back to the miserable day when the soft warmth of the scarf she had knitted for him had been comforting and he reconsidered his harsh words.

"I'm quite well now, thank you."

Her eyes were wide and shining and filled with...what exactly was that look she was giving him? He certainly wasn't accustomed to having students look at him in that manner. He didn't know how long she would have remained there, staring up at him, if he hadn't cleared his throat, startling Gloriana out of her daze.

She quickly ran to the girls who were still standing nearby and began relating something to her rapt audience with enthusiastic arm gestures. As they moved away, heading for the path leading to the castle gates, he could distinctly hear giggling and a few of the bolder girls were stealing quick glances back at him as they walked.

He scanned the platform for stragglers, and with a sense of dread, heard someone walk up behind him. It was Minerva. Of course. He wasn't sure how long she had been there or what she had chanced to overhear, but judging from the look on her face, equal parts amusement and surprise, she had missed nothing of his conversation with Gloriana.

He quickened his pace to walk away from her, avoiding eye contact and hoping she would leave the matter alone, but she easily fell into step beside him.

"That was very kind of you, Severus," she said. "But I believe you may have an admirer now."

"Minerva," he warned, gritting his teeth in irritation.

"It's to be expected, really," she continued in an offhand manner. "Brooding and mysterious are still attractive qualities to a girl her age. She's too young to understand how much trouble your type can be."

"Unless you'd care to find out just how troublesome I can be," he said in a low tone. "I suggest you drop it."

They walked in silence until they neared the castle gates and Gloriana, still giggling with her friends, whirled around and waved enthusiastically at him.

"Fifty points from Hufflepuff, Miss Sullivan," he muttered and Minerva smothered a laugh.

"If I were in your place," she said, "I'd be particularly horrid to her at the first opportunity. There's no telling what damage she could do to your reputation if word gets around you were pleasant to her."

"I wasn't _pleasant_," he insisted. "I was merely acknowledging her gift."

"Mmm. You're not wearing it, I suppose?" she asked, giving him a sidelong look.

"I was ill, Minerva, I didn't take complete leave of my senses."

"That's odd," she said. "I heard differently from Madam Pomfrey. And she thought the color quite flattering on you."

"Poppy should find another diversion instead of spreading idle gossip."

"Speaking of Poppy," Minerva said, "She received a late Christmas gift yesterday and she's invited me 'round tonight for a little fortification before term begins." Minerva's tone was nonchalant, but her expression was beseeching as she looked over at him. "I don't suppose you'd care to join us?"

"There is not enough alcohol in all the country to prepare me for another term," he said. "No, thank you."

"You are feeling better," she said softly. He heard the note of regret in her voice and remained silent, knowing by the familiar look on her face that she was not yet finished.

"Don't misunderstand me," she said. "But when you were ill, there were moments when it was pleasant to not be kept at such a distance."

He stood aside to let her walk through and turned to ensure there was no one lagging behind before locking and warding the gates securely.

"You haven't changed a bit, you know," Minerva said.

"How so?" He never appreciated the reminder that she had known him from a very young age.

"You're still unable, or perhaps unwilling, to recognize the good in yourself."

He scoffed. "Sentimental nonsense."

"But it isn't," she insisted. "You're held in higher regard than you even realize. Poppy and I were thrilled to have an opportunity to help you; you so seldom allow it. And even if there are students who consider you frightening enough to be their boggart..."

And at this Snape narrowed his eyes at her. She had wasted no time in telling him of the form the Longbottom idiot's boggart had assumed, as well as the method suggested by Lupin of eliminating it. Despite her assurances, he knew exactly what others thought of him. The appearance of the vulture-topped hat at the Christimas luncheon had proven that well enough.

"...there are others who think quite highly of you; enough to send you cough drops when you're ill and to knit a scarf for you."

They ascended the main steps side by side and Minerva glanced over at him, her voicesoft as she spoke. "There's never any need for you to be alone, Severus. Not unless you wish it." Her eyes held his for a moment and with a sigh, she disappeared into the interior of the castle.

He raised his voice to call after her. "What time?"

Minerva reappeared in the doorway, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "Pardon?"

"Must I spell it out? What time are you and Poppy meeting tonight?"

"Around eight, I believe," she said. "Does this mean...?"

"It means," he said, interrupting her, "that someone responsible should be present to chaperone, if only to spare everyone the spectacle of two drunken old witches carousing in the castle."

The smile that lit her face then was so unexpected and girlish he was forced to look away in embarrassment.

"You really should get out more, Minerva, if the prospect of sitting in the Infirmary and drinking shrivelfig brandy fills you with such delight."

"It's not that at all," she protested, and then she frowned as a thought seemed to strike her. "Just a moment. How could you have possibly known that Poppy received a bottle of shrivelfig brandy, unless...?"

"Eight o'clock, Minerva," he said, striding past her, catching only a glimpse of her bemused expression as he followed his Slytherins down the stairs to the dungeons.


End file.
